Sheezus

It's all done with a cheeky girl's charm. [Jun 2014, p.115]

Sheezus makes for the slightest of returns rather than a glorious resurrection. [Jun 2014, p.93]

The brilliantly titled Sheezus has loads of great punch lines. But Allen also rocks a sisterly warmth.

Comebacks are often ego trips, but never quite as brazenly as this.

What really makes Sheezus so frustrating, though, is that among the dross there are some genuinely interesting tracks here.

The sledgehammer approach makes sense, in a way, but only if the satire is sharp and coherent. Too often on Sheezus, it’s not.

Sheezus has a few good points and some admirable intentions, but too often it misses the point.

Her attempt at convincing us she's a loving wife and mother of two, a savvy feminist, and a satirical mastermind mostly comes off as disingenuous.

While there’s a healthy dose of filler on Sheezus, there’s still plenty of charmers.

As a Lily Allen record, it’s a sneering, vapid imitation: a Lily Allen stereotype.

There might be more substance musically than lyrically on Sheezus. But even the album’s flashy pop is missing some of the bells and whistles of her previous work.

Allen has been out of the game for a while, at least by pop standards, but she knows how to get back in the ring.

Throughout, Allen and producer-collaborator Kurstin deliver a dynamic, if lyrically flatulent, album, one that harnesses the full force of the singer's tell-all verbiage in the service of songs built for popular radio with an almost schizophrenic desire for commercial acceptance.

Even when the songwriting is less than revolutionary, the performance holds your attention.

Sheezus connects because it's more conversational than confrontational, a personal statement that dabbles in pop rather than trying to embody the pop moment.

Kanye West-referencing record, Sheezus, which is at its strongest when it cops to more details and weakens considerably when the London-born singer-songwriter falls back on generalities.

Allen’s old sharp eye feels watery on Sheezus, squinting at the discourse around feminism, race and privilege unfolding online in 2014, and riding them as a bandwagon back to the middle of the very space the Myspace-spawned pop star once owned, but not having the conviction to do much with them once she’s arrived.

Allen does indeed rally at unexpected moments--"Insincerely Yours" slides along to a yacht-soul groove, "Life for Me" cleverly twists Vampire Weekend's Graceland obsessions, and although the target of an Internet troll is beneath her, the barbs on "URL Badman" are at least sharpened--but these songs only put the rest of Sheezus in dreary relief.

What Sheezus proves is that Lily Allen is still growing and evolving as a musician, and even with a few lesser tracks here and there, Sheezus is so far her best-yet mix of personal stories and overarching cultural commentary.

Ultimately, there are some really strong pop moments on here, but they’re overshadowed by inane, inert, insignificant drama-queening of the highest degree.

Sheezus should confirm Allen’s status as a national treasure, reason enough to be cheerful.

Her domestic bliss songs are predictably the most boring, the exception being L8 CMMR, the dancehall-esque, Auto-Tuned track in which she sings of her husband’s virility.

There are moments that serve to remind you that pop music didn't really come up with anyone to replace Allen during her sabbatical.... Elsewhere, you can sense a certain indecision in the way Allen keeps trying on different musical styles.

Songs recycle uniform beats with nods to hip-hop and electronic influences, but Allen falls short of a revitalizing comeback. Even so, her bold statements are truly worth deeper consideration.

Sheezus is Allen's most uneven record yet, but it's also her most mature.

Plenty of mouth, then, but lacking in trousers. [Jun 2014, p.69]

While it has it moments, Sheezus is largely devoid of Allen’s pragmatic charm of 10 years ago.